


Best Laid Schemes

by jenny_wren



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 17:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12686718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: Contrary to later opinion and belief, George Cowley, for all his omniscience, could not say he had thought Bodie and Doyle would make good partners.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Contrary to later opinion and belief, George Cowley, for all his omniscience, could not say he had thought Bodie and Doyle would make good partners. (Though Cowley was not above implying it was all his idea. If you want a reputation for omniscience you need to take the credit for any serendipitous accident going).

In fact Cowley had chosen them both for their first op specifically because he thought they _wouldn’t_ make good partners. One from the police and one from the army rarely ran well together in harness, too different in their training and way of doing things. The two men didn’t get on either, oh nothing so extreme as brawling in the barracks that would have had them both shown the door, but according to Macklin the two of them were eyeing each other up like a pair of gypsy dogs waiting for the right moment to strike. And then they’d competed for the top spot all through the CI5 training. Some competition could give a team an edge, but too much and it all fell apart.

But they had been top of their training group, and it would be a waste not to make full use of that while he could, and maybe competition would help them get through.

Cowley had no relish for asking his men to play queer but sometimes needs must.

He preferred not to give his established men those sort of jobs, rank had to have some privileges after all, and he’d never give a successful partnership such a job and risk breaking them up in with recriminations.

Therefore Bodie and Doyle, so new they squeaked, and no chance of being a working team, drew the short straw. As they were head of the class he’d give them their choice of the two ops on the table – one disadvantage of saving them up to break in his new agents was the way they stacked up like uncollected rubbish – and they’d have that assignment and then they could walk away from each other. He’d settle them into the permanent partnerships he had lined up for them and they could forget all about it.

But the best laid schemes…

 

Bodie had kept a wary eye on Doyle throughout training. Preferring men himself, he found it easy to pick out other men of similar persuasion and used that to steer clear of them. If he wanted it, he’d go find it, and it wouldn’t be with anybody on the job. In Africa any sign of softness was just stupid, in the Army he’d seen how the little groups were dragged down when one or the other of them inevitably got found out. He wasn’t idiot enough to get himself caught in someone else’s trap.

And he was proved right yet again when Whitburn, the other queer in the training group, flamed out the first break they had when he got caught in the lavs with another bloke.

Fortunately Bodie had kept his distance and wasn’t caught in the fall out. Doyle had kept his distance too, from both Bodie himself, and Whitburn. Bodie admired the caution, looked like the man had a sensible head on his shoulders, and couldn’t help subtly competing against him. It was good to see a fellow making a success of things, and if Bodie couldn’t be the best, well it stung a little less if the best was Doyle.

So he was annoyed when all his careful avoidance came to nothing and they were summoned to Cowley’s office together.

And then the boss laid out their choice of assignments and the world froze up around him altogether. Christ, did Cowley know? Or was it just suspicion? And if it was suspicion, which assignment would give him, them, away?

The first was a quick simple job but was going to require performing for cameras, while the second would let them sneak by with a few compromising touches, but would take far longer to set-up and require faking a relationship of sorts. Which option was the more damning?

Bodie had no idea what to do, and his head turned helplessly towards Doyle.

Doyle who kicked back in his seat as if he hadn’t a care in the world and said,

“We’ll take both.”

Bodie blinked. Cowley blinked.

“Be sensible, man,” demanded the boss.

Doyle shrugged his shoulders, cocky as anything, and even Bodie, who knew the whole thing had to be a pose, wanted to thump him for being a smug over-confident bastard.

“Doyle,” he growled.

“What?” said Doyle, grinning wildly at him now, and oh god it was like jumping off a cliff, all dare and fire, and not backing down for anybody, “You going soft on me, Butch?”

Bodie snorted at his gall. Doyle was a man after his own heart. When in doubt, double-down and dare them to call you on it. “Anything you can do, sunshine.”

“Both of them?” asked Cowley, still unbelieving.

“Yeah,” said Doyle. “It’s not like they’re difficult or anything. That pub isn’t even putting any effort into it. They’re just taking advantage when someone gives them a weakness to use. We stage something nice and juicy in one of their rooms and they’ll be on us like a ton of bricks.”

Cowley tapped his pen against the desk. He’d stopped looking surprised and disapproving, and started paying attention now it appeared Doyle had an actual plan for tackling the ops. There might even have been a slight nod of acceptance.

“And then Hudson, that’s a more traditional badger job. I’m presuming since there’s two of us, you want us to play the hook and the hooked. They’re running it out of the hotel, so we might as well stage a meet there and give them a chance at both of us at the same time. That’ll be easier than trying to get them to recruit the hook, and then set him up with the one to be hooked.”

“Alright. You seem to have this under control. Go get this set up.”

“Yes sir.” Doyle was up and out of chair almost faster than Bodie could follow.

“Sir,” he said hastily and chased after his partner. Doyle was half way down the corridor before he caught him. “Doyle?”

“Not here,” hissed Doyle. “We’re going out for a late breakfast. You’re buying after the way you sat there like a lump.”

“Doyle!”

“Not here.” Which yes was only sensible but at the same time was bloody unfair not allowing Bodie to protest being lumbered with Doyle’s breakfast bill. Bodie’s admiration for Doyle increased, and he had sat there like a lump after all.

“Fine,” he grumbled back, and followed his partner out of Headquarters.

 

Cowley was mildly impressed by Doyle’s ambition, and there had been brains be behind it too, not just a blind grab at a more exciting assignment than an eyes and ears job. Of course he’d wait to see the results before passing judgement. But he noted it as a good start – then promptly forgot all about it. He had more important things to worry about than babysitting new agents through the planning stages.

 

“What the hell are you playing at?” Bodie demanded after they’d settled in a greasy spoon with a cup of tea, and a full English for them both on order.

“Me? Didn’t see you jumping in with any brilliant ideas.”

Bodie shrugged uncomfortably, then swung back onto the attack, “I wasn’t the one signing us up for both.”

“No. But if you thought one was the better option, why didn’t you grab it?”

“How the hell was I supposed to know which was the better option?”

“Exactly. Think I want Ross and her team of trick cyclists asking me about why I wanted one over the other?”

“So you went for both?”

“Sure. Both. You can’t get caught out on which one was better and why, not if you went for both. Both is ambitious and maybe overconfident but it’s definitely not bloody queer.”

“But it’s volunteering for two queer jobs?”

“Only if we go back for more. Hopefully you’ve more brains than that. There were a couple of blokes on the drug squad who got known for wanting the gay jobs just a little bit too much.”

“But not you.”

“Not me.” Doyle smiled tightly. “Got more sense haven’t I? Yeah I took the jobs if I had to. Said it was better than beating the shit out of some idiot kid in over his head, or fucking some girl who should still be in school, or shooting up.” Doyle’s face shadowed and he shook his head.

“All of which had the advantage of being true,” said Bodie, knowing he was right.

“All of which had the advantage of being true. Think it would be true even if I wasn’t bent. I mean really, what’s so bad about a cock in your mouth, even if you can’t stand the bloke it’s attached to? It’s better than five days of shakes while you kick heroin into touch.”

“I dunno.” Bodie hadn’t really considered it from that angle before. “The way straight blokes carry on you’d think they were being asked to chop off a finger or two.”

Doyle’s face screwed up, clearly not interested in trying to understand the intricacies of straight blokes. Bodie nodded in sour agreement. It only gave you a headache after all.

“So that’s what we’ll go for,” he said, “it’s better than any of the other shit jobs that will come our way as the new guys?”

“Yep. You can tell them you weren’t impressed until I talked you round, told you some of the shit jobs you get at the Met. Like floaters.” His face scrunched into a scowl. “Don’t ever volunteer me for a floater.”

Bodie nodded again. He’d never seen anybody with a face quite as expressive as Doyle’s before, everything inside seemed vividly projected outside. How the hell he ever did undercover was a complete mystery, although he must have pulled it off. Somehow.

“Got you,” he said. “The shit jobs in the army aren’t the same, but the principle is there. And I agree with you, you could probably have talked me round even if I wasn’t bent.”

“Exactly,” Doyle grinned brilliantly at him, pleased he’d won his point. The man must be absolutely lethal in the clubs.

“So how are we playing this then? Seeing as you’re the one with all the ideas.”

“Well,” said Doyle. “Since you’ve helpfully confirmed you are actually bent, I think the first thing we should do is go to bed.”

The little sod had timed it so Bodie had a mouthful of tea and he promptly stared to choke.

Doyle grinned wider than ever.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Bodie coughed some more and managed to recover himself, “Alright, you want to run that one past me again?”

“What? You’re not overcome by m’ charms.” Doyle tilted his head mock-coy.

Bodie shook his head, “How haven’t you been beaten to death yet?”

“You smooth talker you.”

“Because I’d be willing to take the job on.”

“Any time, _butch_.”

Bodie laughed, leaning back in his chair, “Is there anything that will actually squelch you?”

Doyle grinned at him and tapped the side of his nose to indicate that was going to remain his secret.

Bodie cracked his knuckles, “I have time. Now, explain why we should go to bed.”

“Because we’re going to give ourselves away if start jumping around each other like scalded cats.”

“Won’t that be less suspicious?”

“Not from an undercover point of view. Though if we wanted to portray agents completely screwing a job because they can’t bear the thought of being considered poofs it could work.” Doyle glared at the idea of it.

Bodie held up his hands in surrender and chewed on that for a moment. The idea of deliberately blowing any task sat as badly with him as it clearly did with Doyle. And on consideration he refused to believe Cowley would have given them the job intending them to fail. That was too paranoid even for him – they were both too new for that sort of double-think. If Cowley wanted them gone, they’d already be gone. Cowley struck him as a man who valued competence too much to deliberate compromise an op.

“Yeah let’s not to do that,” he agreed, “Cowley seems the sort who prioritizes getting the job done over pretty much everything.”

Doyle nodded, “And so do I. You mess me up undercover and I’ll call you a grass and shoot you myself.”

Bodie did not doubt him for a moment.

“That’s your first and only warning. Because the first and only rule of undercover is that you do what it takes to get the job done and worry about the consequences later.” Doyle’s face abruptly sharpened into suspicion, “Have you actually done undercover?”

Bodie looked at the determined bastard of a copper who somehow managed to be tough but not hard. He figured, in comparison with Doyle who’d never even left England, then the whole of his life could count as undercover.

“I can do my part. I’ll get the job done and worry about the consequences never.”

“Fair enough,” said Doyle, still looking suspicious. “Just don’t get squeamish on me later.”

Bodie laughed out loud. Africa had knocked all the squeamishness out of him years ago.

Doyle scowled, “It’s no laughing matter. I had one guy freeze solid when he had to slap a woman.”

Bodie’s eyebrows went up of their own accord.

“Hey, it’s not like I’d want to. And if you’re going to take some sort of principled stand that’s fine. But what you can’t do is stand there all goggle-eyed like a gaffed cod fish.”

Bodie coughed into the back of his hand to disguise his snort, “What did you do?” he asked, confident that the curly-haired terror had done something but completely unable to guess what. Normally by now he’d have a good enough read on a bloke to predict how he’d react to a crisis but Doyle remained fascinating elusive.

“I slapped _him_. And told him to come back when he was old enough to shave. Then I picked her up and dumped her outside. Said good riddance to the pair of them.”

“Such chivalry.”

Doyle shrugged uncomfortably, “It’s not as if I like hurting women. But for some reason there doesn’t seem to be much call for going undercover as a pacifist.”

“Pull the other one mate,” Bodie hooted with laughter. “I barely know you and even I can tell you’d never be able to pull off a pacifist.”

In that sense Doyle was completely predictable. The man was just not cut out for pacifism, or peaceableness in general. Bodie had seen the way Doyle’s temper flashed during training. Amusingly he rather thought Doyle had actually been on his best behaviour so god only knows what he’d be like when he relaxed a bit.

“Alright, alright,” Doyle hunched in on himself sheepishly. “You may have a point.”

Damn right Bodie did, but their breakfast turned up before he could rub it in anymore, and they gave up on conversation to commune with their food. Doyle ate with the quick, neat precision, carefully dipping each piece of bacon in the golden yolk of the fried egg.

“Unnatural that is,” said Bodie.

“What?”

“You’re supposed to dunk your _bread_ in the egg.”

Doyle pulled a revolted face, “You may do, but I don’t. Bread is for butter, and butter only.”

They spent the next few minutes squabbling merrily on the correct way to eat an English breakfast. Doyle was a born arguer, like a terrier he got stuck in and wouldn’t let go. After a little while Bodie was so distracted that his food started going cold, which would never do. But he found he didn’t even have to say much, just an occasional jab and Doyle would keep on going. He was arguing with himself half the time. So Bodie ate and watched enthralled. Better than the telly.

Eventually though Doyle wound down, glanced in confusion at the piece of toast still in his hand and ate it absently. Bodie had finished long ago and he was sat back in his seat, hands folded over his warm full stomach as he drank his tea. The waitress with the nice legs had fetched him another cup. Doyle took a mouthful of his own tea and pulled a face at the lukewarm temperature. He eyed Bodie’s cup predatorily,

“Where’s my tea?” he demanded.

“Too busy nattering, mate.” Bodie took another deliberate sip of tea.

Doyle glanced around for waitress but she’d vanished into the back. His focus on Bodie’s cup of tea increased and his face grew wistful.

Bodie had fully intended to keep the tea to himself and gloat all the while, yet somehow he found himself saying, “Here mate, you finish it.”

The wistfulness dropped away like a discarded mask. Smugly pleased as a cat licking cream off his whiskers, Doyle slurped at the tea.

Bodie wanted to go bash his head against a wall. He had no idea what he was doing. On balance he decided, it was probably sensible to try and keep Doyle sweet. The little sod had a right narky temper. Giving up half a cup of tea he was already finished with was a small enough thing to keep the peace. Happy to have made sense of his own reactions, he yawned and stretched in preparation for moving.

“So,” said Doyle, “Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” said Bodie instantly. There was much to be said for being on your own ground, but the ability to walk away if necessary would be invaluable. Getting Doyle out of a flat he didn’t want to leave struck Bodie as akin to hauling out a cat with its claws hooked into the curtains.

“Alright then.” Doyle checked the bill and counted out the appropriate change. He looked mournfully at Bodie again. This time Bodie gritted his teeth and remained firm. They’d agreed fair and square, well mostly, that Doyle would pay so Doyle was paying. Bodie had no intention of continually folding like a cheap suit.

Doyle heaved a sigh right up from his boots. Bodie knew it had to be for effect but he still found himself saying,

“Stop trying to look like an orphan of the storm, I’ll get the next one alright?”

It couldn’t be true but when Doyle grinned at him, even his curls looked bouncier. He left their payment on the table and grabbed Bodie’s jacket sleeve.

“Come on then, let’s be having you.”

Bodie didn’t think Doyle was making a joke of him by leading him on. That just wasn’t a sensible or logical thing to do to the man who was supposed to be watching your back. But at the same time he found it hard to believe it was this easy. Sure a quick anonymous encounter at club was ridiculously easy to arrange, Bodie didn’t have to do much more than walk up and smile. But to be invited into someone’s home, to actually know the person as more than a body. To want to know someone. That was strange and new and different. It felt like things were moving too fast and he wanted to say, _stop_. But nothing Doyle had said was unreasonable. It made sense. Bodie wasn’t a bird to flutter and sigh. He thumped his head softly. His brain was turning to mush.

“None of that sunshine,” said Doyle, catching his hand and giving it a quick squeeze before decorously letting him go. “Want you in prime working order don’t I.”

“I’m always in prime working order.”

“Uh huh,” Doyle put just enough doubt in his voice to put Bodie on his mettle, but not enough to be disparaging.

“Why don’t we get somewhere private and we’ll just who it is that’s in prime working order.” Bodie shifted so he could pat Doyle’s arse. It was just as warm and firm as it looked. And yes Bodie had been looking, he was only human after all.

Doyle rubbed back against the contact. The abruptly pulled forward and glared back,

“I’m not having any of that, _I’m too good to be fucked_ business. You fuck me, then I fuck you, understand? I am not your boy.”

“Never thought it for a moment, _petal_.”

Doyle stiffened all over like an outraged cat, then caught Bodie was teasing and laughed. He bumped back against Bodie, grabbing his arm and twisting. Bodie shoved back.

“Look,” Bodie said. “You might have had some trouble with blokes thinking you were a fragile flower, god alone knows why, but I’m never going to make that mistake, and especially not just because you let me fuck you.” Doyle was steel to the backbone.

“Alright then, petal.” And he patted Bodie’s arse, then scooted out the café before Bodie could retaliate. Bodie chased after him, flinging his arm over Doyle’s skinny shoulders, gripping tight enough that he couldn’t be accused of a hug. Doyle struggled a bit for show but they reached the car in relaxed amity. Doyle went straight to the driver’s side.

“Hey,” said Bodie, “thought we just agreed you don’t drive all the time.”

“Course not,” said Doyle, so angelic he glowed, “but this time we’re going back to my place. I’m the one that knows the way.” And he clambered into the car thoroughly pleased with himself.

Bodie swung himself into the passenger seat, “Alright James, off we go,” he instructed, all lordly disdain.

Doyle scowled at being reduced to chauffeur.

Bodie smiled back beatifically.

He watched his prickly partner as Doyle drove with a habitual reckless edge. Bodie had no problems with taking it in turns, but his partner’s sharp insistence made him wonder. He was genuinely incredulous that anyone had thought Doyle would be a submissive partner. Personally Bodie thought he was the sort of bossy little sod who gave explicit instructions on exactly how he wanted to be fucked, which would make this a lot of fun.

Doyle’s flat was a cheerful mess just the wrong side of grubby. It was clear its owner was rarely home. Two plants straggled sadly from guilt-induced overwatering. Three heaps of books, a pile of newspapers and a stack of post cluttered the kitchen table. A heap of fresh laundry sprawled across the sofa.

“Sorry about the mess,” said Doyle with automatic courtesy, obviously indifferent to the chaos.

Bodie shrugged, “’S nice.” It would drive him batty surrounded by all that clutter but it made for a pleasant change. Warm and lived-in, so unlike the army, it was clearly Doyle’s space.

Shoving some of the laundry aside he settled himself on the sofa.

“What are you doing there?” demanded Doyle.

“What? Don’t I even get a drink first?” Bodie didn’t want to rush straight to main event, he was enjoying the change from the frantic paces of the clubs. Doyle heaved a lugubrious sigh, but shuffled around and found a chipped crystal tumbler and poured a measure of cheap scotch.

“Anything else m’lady?”

Bodie stretched out his legs and accepted the tribute as his due. “You might want to check the bedroom is presentable.”

“Oh anything for his lordship. Want me to tug my forelock too?”

Before Bodie could enjoy winding him up any further by insisting yes that would be just the thing, Doyle’s face scrunched up in sudden thought and he hurried away to the bedroom. Bodie hear the flump of clothes being thrown around, the squeal of protesting cupboard doors and Doyle muttering to himself.

Bodie smiled and sipped his scotch feeling absurdly happy and utterly unable to say why.

 

 


End file.
